


simmer down

by luminaryhowell



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, btw there's a slight mention of blood but in a jokey way, but i haven't posted here in ages so, this is like?? average???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminaryhowell/pseuds/luminaryhowell
Summary: based on the prompt: "take a deep breath."





	simmer down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> this one was kind of hard to write cause i don't think i'm very good at portraying negative feelings realistically. but i hope it's enjoyable regardless :)

Dan’s foot is falling asleep under his bum. He can feel the pin-pricks like raindrops inside his socks. How long it’s stayed there, he doesn’t know. Two hours or so? He’s been immersed in his writing for a while; the butt chair has started to prod at his bones, and he can’t remember when it got dark. But he ignores the discomfort of it all, eyes suction-cupped to the ironic fanfiction on his computer screen. 

But right now, he isn’t writing. Cumbersome fingers twitch against the surface of the keys. His brain is blank, his imagination zone fizzled out. Three-quarters of the way in, his story comes to an abrupt stop mid-sentence. Dan has no idea where to go next.

He thought a story with homoerotic undertones about Phil coming back from the dead as a vampire would be easy to write. His audience does it every second day, and they’re _teenagers_. But even creating something this low-quality is a struggle. There are plot and characters to think about, and there’s writer’s block and the actual forming of ideas. And Dan – eyes damp around the edges from the monitor’s glare, watching the cursor blink on his document, willing the words to write themselves – feels on the verge of giving up.

A drawn-out sigh leaves his lips, and he mumbles, “I’ve been staring at this screen for too long, are my eyes bleeding?” 

Only a few rooms away and crammed into a Skype window in the top right corner of his screen is Phil. Elbow on the desk, chin propped up in hand, he pauses for a moment and types something on his own computer. “That’s another sentence for _Things Overheard_ ,” he announces unenthusiastically. “And yes. I can see it running down your face. Must be a sign of sleep deprivation.”

“Oh, sod off. D’ya wanna make me a coffee?”

“Dan, we’re getting dangerously close to one AM. I’m not making you a coffee.”

“ _Please_ , Phil. Or I’ll never get this done.”

“No caffeine at bedtime, you know that. Besides, you’re closest to the kitchen.”

“Rude. I bet you’ve got five steps less than me. Go on.”

“You go on. I’m not your _slave_.” Phil stretches his mouth around the word.

“I’m literally ten inches deep in this story right now. I can’t break focus.”

“I’m literally ten inches deep in your mum.”

“Your dick isn’t that long, Phil.”

Phil’s face shoots up, pixelated jaw plunging. Rife with scandal. Then he narrows his eyes. “Shut up. You’re just trying to change the subject.”

A sharp laugh bursts from Dan’s lips and simmers down to a giggle as he leans back in his butt chair. He coos at the pout forming on Phil’s chin. “Sure, sure. Or maybe the poor baby can’t handle the truth?”

“Close your mouth, Dan Howell,” Phil murmurs, eyes flicking over his own screen. “And in case you missed it with all that smart-ass talk, you’re not having coffee.”

“Don’t call me a smart-ass,” Dan grumbles, but it’s punctured by a yawn. 

“See! You’re tired,” Phil grins. “Now save the thing and come to bed.”

“Just give me a few more minutes.”

“Nope. That story will still be there tomorrow.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t have time–”

“Stop making excuses, mister. Let’s go.”

“Phil, I’m not–”

“Don’t make me come over there.”

“Oh my god.” Dan pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I will come to bed later. Just let me finish the story.”

There’s silence on the other end. Dan peers through his palms at the Skype window and finds Phil giving him a pointed look, brows arched. And part of him knows Phil is right and he does want to sleep, but that’s overpowered by a bigger, prouder, more frustrated part that wants to get this thing _done_. He has to, now. Because tomorrow they have meetings and filming to do, and there’s a photoshoot the day after, and he’ll procrastinate when he has free time and the document will sit untouched in his files for days. 

Dan looks away with a curt sigh, scuffing his fringe off his face. “Sorry. I’m writing.”

The fanfiction frowns back at him. The hilarity of it dribbles away, and the more he stares the faster it becomes only words and failure. He doesn’t want to make this a big deal – it’s only a crappy story for their book. But their book is a big deal. It’s the most important thing he’s worked on in his life, and if this isn’t perfect, then none of it is perfect.

Dan glances at the Skype window again, and Phil is gone. Finally, he can let his shoulders sag and his eyelids droop. With nothing else to do, he hits the save button a little too hard and slouches there. The cursor still flashes on the screen like an alarm, stirring anger into his exhaustion. He wants to erase everything he’s written. He wants to scream. 

And then – warm fingers squeezing his shoulder, moving to comb through his rumpled hair. 

“Please come to bed. You can do this in the morning,” Phil says softly. 

Dan wants nothing more than to close his eyes and lean into Phil’s touch, but his words rub off the wrong way. Dan’s shoulders harden. He doesn’t look away from the screen. “You’re wrong, actually.”

Phil’s fingers falter for a second. “What do you mean? We’re not–”

“We have two meetings in the morning.”

“Oh.” There’s an exhale. “I forgot.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and did you forget we have gaming videos to film as well? And then I’m doing god knows what. Fucking exercises. I don’t know. And a day-long photoshoot the next day. If I don’t get this done right now, I never will, cause I’m shit at being organised and I hold things off as long as possible and – and we have – our editor wants to see what we’ve done so far but I haven’t even–”

“Dan. Hey–”

“It’s just – it’s just not going to _fucking work_ , Phil,” Dan cries. “So don’t tell me I can finish it later because I _can’t_. I can’t do it. I can’t fucking do _anything_ , it’s all just–” His voice stretches into a wail and his eyes grow wet and it’s not because of the screen.

Phil crouches against the chair, holds his arm. “Dan. Dan, Dan, Dan. Take a deep breath, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“It won’t be fucking fine. I need to–”

“No. I need you to calm down. Look at me. Deep breath, that’s it. That’s good.”

Dan gives in, closes his eyes and sucks air into his lungs, face red with frustration. He grabs onto Phil’s hand anyway. Then – the dam breaks, and a tired sob bursts from his throat. Phil runs his fingers up and down his arm. 

When his shoulders lose their tremble, Dan stands shakily in search of a hug and Phil meets him there. He tucks his face into Phil’s chest, feeling stupid and guilty but losing himself in the warmth of the arms around his waist and the gradual calm around his heart. His muscles loosen as Phil rubs circles on the small of his back. With a sniffle, Dan considers falling asleep right there. But he just– 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, muffled by the fabric of Phil’s shirt. He twists his fingers around it. “I didn’t…I’m tired. I just wanted to finish it.”

Phil’s fingers slip into his hair and brush through the curls. “I know. It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.”

“I’m sorry for getting angry at you.”

Phil presses his lips to Dan’s temple. “That’s okay too.”

Dan scrubs at the tear stains on his cheeks before resting his forehead on Phil’s shoulder. Then he remembers the fanfiction. It glowers at him from across the room. “Dammit. What am I gonna do?” he whimpers.

“Well, right now you’re going to sleep for several hours,” Phil says. “And when we get home tomorrow, after you do your exercises, you can sit down to write with a fresh mind. We don’t have to meet our editor until Saturday, so that gives you time anyway.” 

Dan shifts and kisses an exposed bit of skin, just above his collar. “Okay. I love you. Thank you for putting up with all my melodramatic shit.”

“Your emotions are perfectly valid, Dan. And I love you too, despite them,” Phil says, stepping back and tucking his partner’s fringe back into place. He smiles softly at the tenderness in Dan’s eyes. “Now, I think it’s bedtime for you.”


End file.
